Finding a Voice
by LalaEveryDay
Summary: Jesse had a plan. He was going to find someone to do a report on, someone who'd attempted suicide, someone who'd share their stories to help him understand what Jasmine Smith was thinking. Then, once the report was published, he would kill himself and leave whoever it was he did the report on every cent he'd ever owned. Never once did he expect Beca, or to fall in love with her.
1. Prologue

**I NEED TO STOP WRITING FUCKING STORIES.**

**But I got this idea after listening to the song Lead the Fight On by He is We, so if you want the full experience(?) of this story, listen to that while reading. It's really a beautiful song.**

**Anyways, I got the idea and it refused to leave my head, so here you are. The prologue of Finding a Voice.**

**Enjoy!**

_**This story is dedicated to Ally, who feels this song just as intensely as I do.**_

_Prologue._

"So, Beca, can you tell me what made you agree to doing this report?" Jesse asked, looking at her from across the table. Beca bit her lip, trying to think of the right answer. She rubbed her right hand across her left forearm, feeling the raised scars on her fingers.

"I don't know," she replied. "I guess my life has been such hell I wanted people to know that... this sounds so queerballs, but I think I just wanted them to know that they aren't alone." Jesse wrote this down quickly in his notebook, then looked back at her, first stealing a glimpse at her arms. They were completely mutalated, covered in raised, white scars throughout.

"And why did you try to kill yourself?" Beca laughed humorlessly.

"Which time?" Jesse was a little taken aback by her quick retort, but didn't show it.

"Whichever one you're most comfortable with," Jesse said. Beca looked over her shoulder at the beige wall behind her and sighed.

"Um, I guess the first time. Just before my parents filed for divorce. They were always fighting, when they weren't drinking. Sometimes, my dad would leave for days and my mom wouldn't get out of bed. When he was there, they'd be screaming at each other from dawn to dusk. I felt really ignored, and scared. Not only would they not talk to each other for days, but sometimes they wouldn't talk to me, either," Beca explained. Jesse wrote it down, then frowned at his paper.

"How old were you?" he asked. Beca looked at her hands, which were now laced together and resting on the table.

"Nine," she said hesitantly. Jesse felt his heart stop. He quickly wrote down the number, before setting his pen down and looking up at her.

"How many times have you tried to kill yourself?" Beca looked up from her hands and met his eyes, her expression blank.

"Thirteen," she told him. Jesse just stared at her in shock. Thirteen times the girl in front of him had tried to kill herself. Thirteen times she'd failed. How could that be possible? How could someone fail at killing themself thirteen times? "Are you gonna write that down?" Beca asked, nodding towards his notebook and pulling him out of his thoughts. He nodded wordlessly and jotted it down.

He had one question circling his mind, one that Jesse wouldn't dare to ask.

Who are you, Beca Mitchell, and who did this to you?

**Short but there it is. Hopefully it intrigued you, hopefully you want to know more, because I really like this story and I hope you will too(: Please fave, follow, and review, because I LOVE YOU ALL.**

Also, please follow me and my friend Ally's IG fan account, pitchperfectacamemes. I will love you even more XD


	2. Chapter 1: Phase One

**Chapter One: Phase One**

Jesse had a plan.

It was simple, really. He was going to find someone to do a report on, someone who'd attempted suicide, someone who'd share their stories to help him understand what Jasmine Smith was thinking. Then, once the report was published, he would kill himself and leave whoever it was he did the report on every cent he'd ever owned.

Never once did he expect Beca Mitchell.

And he especially didn't expect her to fall in love with him.

Jesse tapped his pen on the cold, wooden table, while his boss was rambling about how much he hated the fashion columnist's report on hats and what not to wear on them. He claimed it was too shallow, he needed more depth. He brought the poor girl to tears, which made Jesse a little angry. He'd talked to the redheaded girl before, and he knew she was really trying hard, but her schedule was hectic since she had two jobs. The poor girl was only fresh out of college.

"I actually appreciated the column," Jesse piped up, turning both his boss' attention and the redhead's to him. "I don't think it was shallow, I thought that this was one of her best, actually. You can tell she looked hard into it, because the people of New York do wear some insane things." His boss considered it, gave a single nod to the redhead, and moved on. The girl looked at him gratefully, mouthing thank you. Jesse smiled sincerely back to her and turned back to his boss, trying to focus on what he was saying.

"Now, we need some fresh material. Something we've never done before. Any pitches?" Jesse took a deep breath. This was it. The pitch he'd been working on since high school. He was praying that everything went according to plan.

"I have a pitch," Jesse said. A few heads turned, but most people just continued to space out.

"Okay, Jesse. What's that?" the old man asked.

"Well, when I was in high school, a friend of mine, Jasmine Smith, committed suicide. What I wanted to do was try and get something from her prospective. What went through her head. My idea was to interview someone who'd attempted suicide and interview them for eight weeks. I want to hear their stories, I want to feel what they felt. I want to open people's eyes and show them what it feels like to really hurt," Jesse explained. By now, most of the room was looking at him, except for a few who were still apparently fascinated by the beige walls of the room.

Jesse's boss studied him for a minute, before bursting out laughing, so hard he had to lean against the table. Some people looked repulsed, others laughed along with him. Jesse tried not to be offended, because his boss was a total ass and he knew it, but it was pretty difficult.

"Jesse," he said, once his fit of laughter had stopped. "I like the idea. But there isn't a chance in hell that anyone would agree to do this."

"Well, I-" Jesse started, only to be cut off by his boss.

"Let me tell you something kid. What you want to do is ask people about the darkest, worst times of their lives, and you expect them to answer. It isn't going to work."

"Look. I know it's a long shot, but this story has potential. It could be really successful, because suicide is almost becoming a trend," Jesse countered. His boss folded his arms over his chest, staring hard at Jesse.

"I'll tell you what. If you can find someone to agree to this, then you can write the story. But it better be damn good," his boss told him. Jesse nodded, relieved that he got his boss to agree but also taking regard to what his boss had said. Where the hell was he going to find someone who would agree to this?

"Okay, good meeting. Now, go back to work." He shooed everyone from the office room, gesturing for them to get out. Jesse stood up from his seat, collecting his pen and notepad and putting it into his bag.

"Hey, it's Jesse, right?" The redheaded fashion columnist appeared next to him, holding her stuff to her chest.

"Yeah, that's me. And you're name is..." Jesse felt rude for forgetting her name, but she only laughed it off.

"Chloe Beale," she replied, seeming entirely unoffended.

"Oh, right! Sorry, I'm really bad with names," he said. She just smiled sincerely, before looking at her feet.

"Um, listen. I have a friend who could help you with your report," Chloe said quietly. Jesse looked up at her, surprise written on his face.

"You do?" he asked. She nodded, writing something down on a piece of paper then handing it to him. It was an address.

"Yeah. Go to that address at about four p.m. tomorrow," Chloe replied, smiling.

"Are you sure they're okay with this?" Jesse asked, staring at the series of digits on the paper.

"Yeah, she'll be perfectly fine with it. She doesn't have a problem talking about this kind of stuff. But she's really... guarded, per se. It might take a while to get her to say certain things, but once she does, I think this will really help her."

"Thank you so much, Chloe." Jesse was still surprised, because he didn't expect to find someone so quickly.

"You're welcome. Oh, and Jesse?" she asked. Jesse looked up from the paper and met eyes with her. Chloe's smile was still ever-present on her face.

"Yeah?"

"Beca's a little... rough around the edges. Don't get discouraged by that. She's really a good person," Jesse nodded and said thank you one last last time, before waving goodbye and exiting the room.

Phase One was complete.

**Thanks to those of you who took the time to read this. I do realize it's a very heavy topic and that suicide is a very serious issue, and I hope I offended no one with it. If this story goes as I want it to, it will hopefully be inspirational. I am not trying to glorify it in any way. Suicide is something I have dealt with a lot in my life, so let's hope I can write it well enough. It is an element in almost all of my stories, but this is the one where it's most prominent and where it's the main theme of the story. That's all. I love you :***


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